


Why Can't You See?

by Joolzmp7



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Dream Sex, First Kiss, First Time Blow Jobs, Graduation, Happy Ending, Johnlock - Freeform, Light Angst, M/M, Pining Sherlock, Rugby Captain John Watson, Sherlock Plays the Violin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 07:01:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14159346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joolzmp7/pseuds/Joolzmp7
Summary: Sherlock can't understand why John wants to spend time with the new girl when he should be all John needs.  Dreams and misunderstandings follow but can the boys win through in the end?  Let's hope so.





	Why Can't You See?

Why Can’t You See?

By Joolz

 

Sherlock just couldn’t understand it. Why was John wasting his time with that stupid girl, Mary, when he could be spending time with him? It has been like this for six months now, ever since the wretched girl had transferred to their Sixth Form College from the United States.

He and John were in their final year, having started their A Levels together despite there being almost a full year difference between their ages. Sherlock had graduated well ahead of everyone else in his class even though he, technically, should have been in the year below as his birthday was on the first of September and the cut-off point for the school year was usually the thirty-first of August. John’s birthday was the seventh of September so he was the oldest in their year, having already had his eighteenth birthday on the second day of term.

As they had done in past years, they had held a little party to celebrate both their birthdays. It was usually organised between the two dates but this year it had been delayed until the weekend after they started back to school. They had invited the whole class as usual, even though Sherlock didn’t consider them his friends, which had included the new girl, Mary Morstan.

Her father was on secondment to a position at the Embassy in London and hadn’t wanted to be separated from his family so his wife and daughter had both come with him. He often got posted to other countries so they were used to this routine and Mary had found that she fitted into the curriculum quite well with her wide-ranging knowledge so she was able to keep up with the other students of her age.

The rest of their year group had been together more or less all the way through the main school, and continuing on to the sixth form which was part of the same complex. Having someone new in their ranks was very exciting and she had been the life of the party, much to Sherlock’s chagrin.

He accepted that John liked to do a round of everyone and make sure things were running smoothly as they were the nominal hosts of the evening, but this year ‘that girl’ had hogged the limelight the whole evening, monopolising John’s attention. She had even withstood one of Sherlock’s cutting appraisals which sent most people running. All that had got him was an angry frown from John and him taking Mary off to another part of the room, leaving Sherlock even more on his own.

Things hadn’t really improved from that night onward. John was a member of the rugby team and Mary had stirred up some interest amongst the other girls for starting a cheer-leading squad like they had back home in America. She didn’t make them do the more exotic climbing on each other’s backs and shoulders making towers, as her countrymen did, but they did do dancing and cheering and pompom waving during half time. This had greatly increased the viewing figures for the teams’ matches – half of them coming for the game and half for the show.

As John was captain of the team he did a lot of the organisation and it involved him spending large amounts of time with Mary getting everything set up for their matches. They soon found themselves dating and spending even more time together outside school. Sherlock wasn’t happy about that at all. He put up with the time that John spent at rugby and even put in an appearance occasionally to show his support – for John, not the game – but this was getting too much. 

John had had the odd girlfriend before but they never seemed to last long. Whether it was because John always dropped everything when Sherlock called or because they couldn’t put up with the observations Sherlock let fly whenever in their presence, wasn’t something on which he dwelt. With Mary, though, things had been different. She didn’t seem bothered by what Sherlock said, just letting it roll off her back; and because John was dedicated to his team, he wouldn’t be put off from meeting with her to discuss things, regardless of what Sherlock had to say. Sherlock had serious doubts that all those get-togethers had been strictly necessary and knew she was manipulating things for her own benefit, but John wouldn’t listen to him and Sherlock had often found himself sitting alone at home, where before he would have spent the evenings with John.

Sherlock knew John was very gregarious and had lots of friends and he had never wanted to stop him from seeing them – well, not much anyway. He knew that would make John unhappy, which was the last thing he wanted to do. He was not interested in other people himself, however, and John was all he had in the way of friends and that was the way he liked it. 

They had been friends since first starting this school when Sherlock had told John how he knew he’d been staying with his grandparents whilst his parents were trying to fix their marital problems, just by looking at the way his trousers had been ironed. John had been amazed and impressed and things had flourished from there.

Sherlock had been quickly running out of ideas as to how to handle the Mary situation though. He had tried ignoring her and tempting John with other activities, but that hadn’t worked. He had made comments to her and about her, but all that did was make John disappointed in him and that wasn’t a look he liked to see on John’s face. He had tried being nice(-ish) to her and John had been really pleased with him which he had liked, but he had been so annoyed at having to fake being happy around her that the effort had become too much for him. He had finally been reduced to trying to avoid her where possible. This meant he spent even less time with John which made him very unhappy, but he just didn’t know what else he could do.

He had to make the most of Tuesday nights. His parents always went away on Tuesdays and, since they’d first started school, Sherlock had arranged for John to sleep over at his house on a Tuesday night and they went to school together on Wednesday morning. Mycroft had been in the house when they were younger but, luckily for them, when he’d gone away to university they had been allowed to continue as Sherlock’s parents said that John was a good influence. There was also a housekeeper around so it wasn’t as if they were totally abandoned or John’s parents might not have been so keen to allow two boys in a house on their own, but it had always worked out.

It had always been kept as their day and not even Mary had been able to encroach on that as John enjoyed it just as much as Sherlock. She was doing her best this evening, though. John and Mary had had an argument earlier at school and John had been complaining about it all the way home to Sherlock, when Sherlock would far rather have been discussing what they, themselves, would be doing later. Now, to make matters worse, they had only just finished tea when she had phoned John to go over it all again and he was wasting ‘their’ time talking to her. As far as Sherlock could tell, it wasn’t even a real problem. Mary had clearly misinterpreted something John had said and taken it completely the wrong way and John was trying to explain that he’d been joking and she wasn’t taking the apology very well either. When he eventually put down the phone he looked really glum and Sherlock wanted nothing more than to make him feel better.

“Come on, John, shall we watch the film?”

“Hmm? I guess so. I just don’t understand why she won’t accept that it wasn’t an insult, it was just a joke.”

“Maybe it’s just a nationality thing? I knew exactly what you meant, John; it was very funny.”

“It was, wasn’t it? You always get me.” John smiled at him and then sighed, “I wish Mary could be a bit more like you.”

Little did John know how much Sherlock wished that the things that made Mary special in John’s eyes could apply to him, too. He had liked John for so long now that he couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t felt this way.

They started watching a James Bond film, one of John’s favourites, which Sherlock tolerated only because he knew how much John liked them. Very soon afterwards Sherlock was relieved to see John’s shoulders relaxing and they settled in to their regular routine of watching the film and flicking pieces of popcorn into the other’s mouth to see who could catch the most. Sherlock usually won as John had a dead-shot aim and John always tried to claim that the win should be his for hitting the target most frequently.

When the film had finished they went upstairs to Sherlock’s room and got their pyjamas on ready for bed. Sherlock liked to wind down by listening to some classical music and by sheer doggedness and repetition he had indoctrinated John into the joys of a well-played symphony, too. John’s favourite thing, though, was when Sherlock played his own violin just for him. He knew it relaxed Sherlock, both to listen and to play, but he always had an extra little glow when he drew his bow across the string to hold the last note and then opened his eyes to see John’s rapt face and hear the praise which John never failed to bestow.

John wanted that today. He wanted Sherlock to be able to show off for him. He knew how much Sherlock loved it and he wasn’t blind to the fact that Sherlock hadn’t been too happy recently. Unfortunately, he was too enamoured with Mary to let Sherlock’s usual antics stop him.

Mary was different from the other girls he’d dated. She’d travelled all over and told him stories about places he longed to visit. He just wished she understood him a bit more. This wasn’t the first time they had had a misunderstanding. It seemed John’s humour was a little more acerbic than she was used to and she often took offence at the smallest things which he knew Sherlock would have got instantly and would have set them both off chuckling merrily.

He considered Sherlock his best friend. They got on well in all things and John always understood what Sherlock meant even though he wasn’t the most articulate about expressing his feelings. He was also adept at reading the deeper meaning in Sherlock’s comments and found himself able to ignore the bluntness of his friend’s manner which was so off-putting to others. It wasn’t often that he found himself at odds with Sherlock and he didn’t like that he hadn’t seen so much of him recently. He would really have to try to put more effort in to spending time with Sherlock as well as Mary. He’d been missing his friend and had been looking forward to being just the two of them tonight. Time to make up for his earlier distraction.

“Sherlock, would you mind playing for me tonight please? I feel like hearing something with a bit more of the personal touch.”

Sherlock smiled shyly. He’d been hoping that he could play for John tonight. He had written something special in all his extra ‘alone’ time and he wanted John to hear it and know what he thought; to see, in fact, if he would recognise that the piece Sherlock had composed was about them.

John settled down on Sherlock’s bed and got himself comfy whilst Sherlock rosined his bow ready. Sherlock always played with his eyes shut, liking to feel the music flow through him, so he took one last look at John lying on his bed, snuggling against his pillows, and then he began.

The piece he had written had two main themes which played off against each other; one taking the lead, then the other following merrily behind. The two would often swap places, taking turns to carry the main tune, but they always came together at the end of each part. As Sherlock was nearing the end, the lower, slower theme played a greater role and had a plaintive feel to it; as if yearning for something it was missing and Sherlock put all of his feelings of loneliness in to it. He hadn’t been able to leave it there, though, because he had known he would be seeing John tonight, so he had brought the second theme back in again to end with a quizzical kind of note; hoping that John would understand what he meant to him and how having him here was what brought everything together. 

Sherlock drew out the last note and remained still for a long moment, his arms held steady as the echo faded. He finally opened his eyes and looked down at John and was stunned to see that John had tears in his eyes.

“John…?”

John swallowed hard and blinked his eyes rapidly, overcome by the emotion of it all.

“Sherlock, that was… it was just beautiful. Was that… us?”

Sherlock was more pleased than he could say that John had picked up on their themes. He was glad he had taken the time to encourage a love of classical music in John and to teach him about the nuances of each instrument and its many voices. It was something that he cared about so deeply and it meant everything to have someone with whom to share the emotions.

“It was. Did you like it?”

“I loved it, Sherlock, it was amazing. You are amazing.”

Sherlock beamed at the praise. John seemed to have an endless supply of pleasing comments which he was never shy of sharing with Sherlock, and Sherlock appreciated every one. 

“That end part just felt so sad, though; so alone. Is that my fault? Have I done that to you?”

“Well I…,” Sherlock left the comment hanging. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to openly blame John but he had been alone a lot lately and that was how he had been feeling.

“Sherlock, I’m so sorry. I know I’ve been spending time with Mary, but I didn’t know I’d been making you feel like that.”

“John, it’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t okay. I’ve been selfish and I’ve been leaving you on your own too much. All because of Mary. I’ll have to learn to balance my time better. You’re my best friend and I’ve been neglecting you. I’ll do better, Sherlock, really I will.”

Sherlock sat down on the bed next to John. It wasn’t quite as perfect as he’d been hoping – his ideal scenario had been that John would confess his love and abandon Mary on the spot – but even he had to admit to himself that had been a long shot.

“It’s fine, John. I won’t deny that I have been wishing for a little more of your attention, but I know you like to have friends.”

“That’s true, but I’ve always made time for you, too, and I seem to have been lax in that lately so I’ll try harder.”

Sherlock smiled at John and nodded his head in acceptance so John let it go, though he vowed to himself that he really would spend more time with Sherlock.

“Now, I think it’s Treasure Island time and I do believe it’s my turn to read.”

Sherlock loved pirates and swashbuckling adventure books and he had a wide selection that he and John had been repeatedly reading their way through since these sleepovers had first started. Treasure Island was a favourite for them both and they each found it very comforting listening to the other read so they took turns to read a few chapters each week before they fell asleep. John hoped that having some of that read to him would settle Sherlock down a bit after his emotional performance.

Sherlock climbed on to his bed and got himself comfy next to John. They had been doing this since they were very young – lying in bed together to read - and it had never seemed necessary to either of them to stop. John sat up against the headboard and Sherlock lay with his head resting against John’s hip.

John started reading and he always did the voices for the different characters which Sherlock loved. Sherlock found himself deeply soothed by the sound of John’s voice and he unconsciously rubbed his head against John’s hip as he snuggled himself down into the covers. John smiled at his friend and suddenly had the urge to provide extra comfort now that he knew what Sherlock had been going through with his loneliness. He held the book with one hand and rested the other on Sherlock’s head.

Sherlock froze for a moment, wondering if John was about to push his head away but he gave a deep, happy sigh as John surprised him by ruffling his fingers through the dark curls instead. Sherlock pushed up against the hand, instantly wanting John to do that forever, and John took the hint and stroked through Sherlock’s hair as he continued reading, his fingers massaging gently over Sherlock’s scalp.

It didn’t take too long before John’s fingers would pause momentarily and his voice would slow down as he found himself almost dropping off to sleep. Each time, Sherlock rubbed up into his hand to restart that motion he was enjoying so much and John would jolt himself awake and begin reading again. Eventually, though, both of them dropped off and John’s body gradually slumped down across the pillow above Sherlock’s head so that he was almost curled around him.

~*~

By the time either of them started stirring it was early the next morning and Sherlock had rolled over during the night and his forehead was now buried in John’s lower stomach. His hand had slipped over John’s body and was curled up on John’s lower back, gently rubbing against the soft skin beneath his fingers. He was warm and comfortable and he really didn’t want to rouse himself to full wakefulness.

*

John, himself, was having a lovely dream about his last evening with Mary when they had been making out on the sofa in the PE Teacher’s office after they had finished finalising the arrangements for the next match. She had slid her hand over his crotch and been rubbing him gently through his trousers whilst he kissed her. He could actually still feel the warmth now; it was lovely and his rapidly hardening cock was pushing up against her palm. It almost felt like deep breaths flowing against him, regular and warm. Maybe Mary was going to give him a blow job. It hadn’t progressed that far on that particular evening but he has happy to go with the flow and allow his imagination free rein.

Memories of soft, dark curls played through his mind as he gently pressed his cock towards the warmth; hoping that if he ran his hands through that hair it might urge her forward to take him deep into her mouth. Huh, that’s funny; Mary had straight, blond hair? His dream-self shrugged and angled his body higher, pushing his hips in as he felt her large hands against his back, holding him safe. Mary had very small hands. This dream image wasn’t really holding true to form but he was more than happy to enjoy the results regardless.

*

Sherlock was enjoying his dream of John. This was how he wished he really could wake up; his hands rubbing circles on John’s back and the warm scent of him filling his nostrils. Not that he had ever really been close enough to get such an all-encompassing scent of him before; only whiffs here and there, but this was how he imagined it would be. He felt John’s hands in his hair, pushing his head closer to that heady aroma. He had loved the feeling of John ruffling his hair last night; it had been so tender and he had felt safe and cherished. It didn’t surprise him that he was dreaming of that again now.

He leant his head forward and felt John pressing up against him. He was imagining that his head was hovering over John’s groin – did he dare push it further – should he go the whole hog and imagine how it would be to taste John’s cock in his mouth? He usually preferred to respect John’s boundaries – whether it was in real life or in his dreams – as he could never picture John accepting this from he and he liked to always see John as he really was. Would it hurt this one time, though? He had been without John for ages and had really enjoyed finally getting to spend an evening with him again. He decided to risk it, just this once – John would never know what he was dreaming so what would be the harm?

He darted his tongue out so it touched the tented material covering the hard shaft in front of him. There was a small wet dot just at the top, where John’s cock was already leaking as if in anticipation and Sherlock could taste it. He needed to move those pyjama pants out of the way; he needed to feel the real thing in his mouth – right now! If he was going to feel guilt for an imagined transgression against John’s assumed wishes then he was going to make it worthwhile. He pulled the soft cotton down and pressed his tongue into the little slit and groaned low in his throat as the small droplet washed over his taste buds. It was divine. The aroma was strong and concentrated so close to the body. It was John, but more so. Sherlock circled around the top and then slid his tongue down one side, around the base and up the other, repeating the movements as he felt John pushing against him. This was bliss.

*

John groaned as he felt those perfectly formed lips curve around his shaft. This dream was better than anything he had actually had in real life. Mary was loath to put her lips on him down there and had, in fact, only given him one blow job before declaring she didn’t like it and had only used her hand since. He obviously wasn’t going to complain because as long as he got off in one way or another, he was happy. He must admit that he thought it was a tiny bit selfish though, as he willingly went down on her frequently after finding out how wonderfully she reacted and how much she enjoyed it. Never mind; stop thinking about that now – this was much more fulfilling. He could feel that strong tongue moving up and down his shaft and it was heavenly.

He put his hand into that soft hair again and tried pulling it up to manoeuvre the tongue where he wanted it most; around the tip. They obviously took the hint as it dipped into the slit again and then circled around the head, blowing lightly over the freshly moistened flesh, sending shivers of pleasure racing along John’s spine. He didn’t ever want to wake up from this dream.

*

Sherlock felt John’s fingers in his hair, pulling him up to the head of his cock and he knew exactly what he wanted to do. He wanted to take the whole thing in his mouth. He’d seen it on some of those porn sites that showed up when he looked through the browser history on John’s laptop. The face the guy had made when the girl had taken the shaft straight down had looked amazing and he wanted to see that expression on John – even his dream version.

He slid his mouth over the top and sucked gently, getting a feel for it. It was a pure contradiction – so hard and yet so soft at the same time. He loved it. He curved his lips, just like he’d seen the girl do and he moved his mouth down the shaft, wanting to go all the way down until his lips brushed John’s pubic hair. Unfortunately, he’d only just got past halfway when the tip hit the back of his throat and he pulled back quickly as he felt himself about to choke. Okay, that would obviously take practise; maybe start off a bit slower. He went back to just taking in the head and made do with moving his mouth up and down to the middle, using his hand to cover the rest of John’s cock. Oh yes, that was working well. He loved the sounds that imaginary-John was making. If only he could hear that in real life. He would keep those sounds in his mind palace and remember them always as that would be the best for which he could hope.

*

John was in heaven as he felt that warm mouth sliding up and down his shaft. This was the best blow job he had ever had. He didn’t think even a real one would be able to compete with his imagination in this regard. He moaned as it went temporarily deeper then it moved back up and he felt those strong fingers curl around the part not covered by his lips. The other hand cupped his balls and rolled them around, pulling them down slightly, stretching the skin and rubbing his thumb on the area of skin below.

Wait a minute – something was wrong with that last thought. He was going crazy with his pronouns. He’d somehow shifted from ‘her’ to ‘they’ to ‘his’? What was going on in this weird dream? As he felt the pressure building, he decided he didn’t really care at this stage; all he wanted now was to come. John’s hands tightened in the curls and he helped to push and pull the head as it slid up and down. 

*

Sherlock felt the tingles in his scalp as John’s fingers gripped his hair. Oh goodness. He thought he could maybe come on that alone. He would have to find a way to get real-John to play with his hair again – it was amazingly sensitive and responsive and something he found he loved. He obliged the motion of the hands by swallowing as much of John’s cock as he could whilst vigorously stroking the part he couldn’t cover with his lips. His groin was rubbing frantically against the bed as he tried to get some friction on his own cock at the same time. He was really very close but he almost didn’t want to come and for this dream to end – this was the best he had ever felt and he was enjoying the feelings too much.

*

When John felt the renewed pressure of those lips around his shaft he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. The hand surrounding him was providing strong and powerful strokes and as he pushed that head down one last time, he yelled out an instinctive name and had the most amazing orgasm of his life. He shuddered as he continued to pulse out the after-shocks, enjoying the fact that Sherlock swallowed greedily, and then he collapsed back on to the bed, arms out to the side as he recovered his composure.

*

Sherlock heard his name shouted out in John’s voice and that was all he needed. He felt John exploding down his throat and he swallowed it all as his own body shook as he came inside his pyjama trousers; his hips undulating on the bed as he tried to drag it out for as long as possible. Oh, he would definitely have to remember the sound of his own name shouted in that desperate tone by John. This was almost as good as the real thing – certainly as real as he was ever going to get – so he savoured the whole thing. He rested his head against dream-John’s thigh as he basked in the heady feelings; saving everything to his memory palace to ensure he didn’t forget a thing.

*

John stretched his body as he flexed his arms and slowly fluttered his eyes, dragging out the moment before he opened them fully. That dream had been the most realistic thing he had ever felt. Even now his body felt sated and relaxed and he could still almost feel Sherlock’s body resting against his… Wait, what? Sherlock? He thought back over the last few moments of his dream when he had realised whom it was he was actually dreaming about. It had been Sherlock, not Mary, whom he had been picturing giving him head – and it had been the best orgasm he had ever had, too. What was that about? He wasn’t gay! He didn’t think about Sherlock that way – he had a girlfriend, for God’s sake.

What on earth had made him imagine Sherlock doing that? Sherlock wasn’t even like that. He didn’t remember ever seeing Sherlock with anyone or even talking about anyone in that way. It was a good job Sherlock would never know what he had been thinking; that would just make things weird. And anyway, he reminded himself, still not gay!

He opened his eyes, deciding he’d better get himself ready for school before his Mum came up to see why he wasn’t out of bed. Wait a minute - that wasn’t his ceiling? He recognised that view – that was Sherlock’s ceiling. He was in Sherlock’s room. Oh shit! Shit, shit, shit! He tilted his head and there, resting on his leg, was only bloody Sherlock himself. Lying right next to John’s sated penis with a big smile on his face! Bloody, buggering shit! Now, what was he going to do…?

*

Sherlock was analysing the taste of imaginary-John within his mouth. This was so realistic – his superior intellect had obviously fashioned a perfect analytical dream for him. This was just the sort of input he found fascinating. He wished he could have kept some to put on a slide. He would love to study this under his microscope and see John’s sperm in action. He could do a comparison with a sample of his own and examine motility and do a full sperm count to see who was more virile. He had no doubt the answer would be John. He was sure his would be more intelligent, of course, but John was definitely the more physical specimen.

Sherlock was snapped out of his delightful contemplation at that moment as he was rudely awakened from his dream by being kicked in the thigh. He banged his head against the bedside table as he toppled off the bed and on to the floor. His eyes snapped open and he caught sight of John jumping up onto the centre of the mattress, pulling up his pyjamas, before leaping down off the other side, grabbing his clothes and running into Sherlock’s bathroom and slamming the door.

Sherlock looked at the space where John had been and then across to the closed bathroom door. Was that…? Had he just…? Did they…? He couldn’t finish a thought as everything went whirring through his head so fast. He looked down at his own crotch and saw the wet, sticky patch over his groin. His part in this hadn’t just been a dream; he had actually come in his own pyjamas. Did that mean that John’s part had been just as real? Had he seriously just given John a blow job? John had certainly run out of there quick enough and he had had to pull up his trousers on the way which had been encircling his thighs just where Sherlock had pulled them.

Sherlock swirled his tongue around his mouth. He really did have residue on his tongue. He could taste and smell John all around him. Sherlock smiled to himself. They had had sex. Sherlock had never felt so happy. Everything he had ever wanted was coming true. John had actually spent the night with him and they had been together. Now maybe they could get rid of Mary and John could be his.

John didn’t appear to be of the same opinion as, at that moment, he flung open the door of the bathroom, fully dressed and grabbed his school bag, backing away to the door.

“Um, sorry, Sherlock. I’ve got to go. I’d forgotten I’ve got a meeting this morning with the Coach and I really can’t be late. I’ll see you later at school, okay?”

He grabbed the handle and gave a weird sort of wave as he went out and closed the door behind him, just as Sherlock was still halfway through a sentence.

“But, John… It’s only 6.15,” he finished lamely.

Obviously John wasn’t as accepting of this as Sherlock. Maybe he was just in shock? He’d be okay later at school.

Sherlock took his time getting ready and left for school at their normal time. There was no sign of John when he got there but he didn’t let it bother him as John had said he’d see him later. He would wait.

~*~

It seemed he was destined to wait a little longer as John didn’t appear in the canteen at lunch time either. Sherlock didn’t go in there to get anything to eat – he only did that when John made him – but he stayed there for the full hour waiting for John to turn up but there was no sign of him.

They didn’t have any lessons together that afternoon so Sherlock didn’t see John for the rest of the day. He hung around the gates at the end of school but once more he was out of luck. He didn’t know what to do now? He had tried texting John a few times throughout the day but he hadn’t heard anything back. That wasn’t unusual during school hours as John wouldn’t look at his phone - as much as Sherlock tried to insist - but in his breaks and after school were perfectly valid times for John to have replied.

He decided to go to John’s house to see if he could catch him there. John’s father opened the door but he told Sherlock that John was out with some friends that evening and wouldn’t be home until late so there was no point him waiting. John hadn’t said anything to him about going out that night and he was sure he had seen the curtain moving in John’s room as he turned away but there was no way he could force his way in so he left.

He walked home dejectedly, wondering what to do. He tried a few more texts but he had still not had an answer by the time he got home so he sat on his bed and thought through everything that had happened.

~*~

John sagged against the wall when he had let the corner of his curtain fall after he’d peeped down at Sherlock talking to his father on the doorstep. His back slid down the surface and he ended up sitting on the floor with his knees tight against his chest, his head resting against his arms which were folded on top.

What the hell was he supposed to do now? He had let Sherlock give him a blow job – well, ‘let’ was a relative term, he tried to console himself – but it had still happened and, what was more, he had liked it.

He had managed to avoid Sherlock all day. He’d stayed in the changing rooms until just before time for lessons that morning. He’d gone without lunch so that he could skip going to the canteen. His stomach had been churning too much for him to eat anyway. Then he had given an excuse to the teacher to leave class five minutes early so that he could get out before Sherlock at the end of the day. He had run home and told his father to tell Sherlock he was out as they’d had a row and he didn’t want to see him right now. His father wasn’t best pleased as he always told John that problems should be faced not ignored, but something about the look on John’s face must have persuaded him as he agreed this one time.

John lifted his head and pulled out his phone which had vibrated again in his pocket, as it had been doing all day. He counted them up. Thirty seven unanswered text messages. He scrolled through them, noticing the increasing signs of confusion and, by the end, desperation they contained. The last one just said: ‘John. Please?’

He didn’t know what to reply. His brain had been swirling all day with thoughts of ‘not gay’ and ‘that was amazing’ and ‘how could I?’ Feelings of elation at how wonderful it had felt whilst he’d dreamt (as he thought) the blow job, and then worried about somehow having cheated on Mary. He did try to reason with himself that it had been subconscious so he couldn’t really help it. He told himself that he hadn’t realised it wasn’t Mary in his dream to start with but when he remembered running his fingers through what were clearly Sherlock’s curls and not wanting to stop, he brought himself round full circle and started through the confusing thoughts all over again.

He would just have to not see Sherlock for a while and hope that his feelings would settle down. It would be nigh on impossible to avoid Sherlock completely because he knew what Sherlock was like but if he kept himself surrounded with his friends and spent all his free time with Mary then he might be able to minimise their time together.

He would definitely have to avoid Tuesdays. There was no way he was putting himself in such close proximity to Sherlock as sharing a room. Who knew what might happen with this hanging over them? He would just have to make plans with Mary on those nights and keep himself busy. That was fine. That would work. This was just a momentary aberration. He liked girls; of course he did. He had Mary and that was all he needed.

He clicked into his text program and sent a single message to Sherlock before turning off his phone so that he wouldn’t see the, no doubt, countless replies he would receive. He got undressed and into bed and lay tossing and turning in the dark, until he finally fell asleep in the early hours; trying to convince himself that everything was fine, and it would all work out, and Sherlock would be okay. 

~*~

Sherlock was not okay. He re-read the single text message he had received from John over and over. ‘Everything’s fine, it’s all fine, just really busy right now. John.’ It seemed so blunt. No mention of when he would see him again; no acknowledgement of what had happened; and no reply to any of his follow-up texts. In fact, they didn’t even have the ‘message received’ symbol so it seemed John didn’t want to talk to him so much he had turned off his phone. As lacking as Sherlock was in the niceties of conduct following sexual acts, even he thought they needed to talk about things. It left him feeling upset and confused and not knowing what to do – not a position in which he liked to find himself. He lay down on his bed and spent the night thinking things through in a very similar way to the kind of evening John was having, if he only but knew it.

~*~

The next day was no better. Sherlock did at least see John at school but he always seemed to be surrounded by his friends and said he didn’t have time to talk. Sherlock had thought things would be better after John’s promise not to neglect him so much, but he was seeing even less of John than he had been before they’d spoken.

Nothing seemed to improve as the week progressed. John was busy every evening with his friends or with Mary. He sat with them at lunch time and, though he said Sherlock could join their table, he never offered to move so that he could sit by him or move to another table to spend time alone with him. After a few days Sherlock just stopped asking and didn’t even bother going to the canteen at all. His appetite had disappeared anyway and if John wasn’t going to insist he eat then he certainly wasn’t going to do so on his own.

All he had to look forward to was when the following Tuesday would roll around and he would have the evening with John. On that morning, however, John stopped next to him on his way to class - hand in hand with Mary – and denied him even that small pleasure.

“Oh Sherlock, I meant to say I can’t come over tonight, sorry. Mary’s parents have invited me round to the embassy for tea so I can’t refuse something like that. Sorry, it’s such short notice, but we weren’t doing anything important, were we? See you tomorrow anyway.”

Sherlock had his mouth open to reply but John just turned away and walked off with Mary, not giving him time to get a word in. Sherlock’s jaw clicked shut and he clenched his teeth together as the thought of John considering their evening ‘not important’ threatened to burst out and be shouted at John’s retreating form.

‘Not important’! John thought his time with Sherlock was ‘not important’. Well, there was his answer. It seemed that no matter what he did, he no longer had any relevance in John’s life. If John was prepared to just throw away his regular evening with Sherlock – something which had been in place for over ten years – on a whim, for a meal with Mary (and that wouldn’t have been last minute – not if it was a meal at the embassy – and John had complained about them before to Sherlock and wouldn’t have gone to one voluntarily) then he obviously no longer wished to spend his time with Sherlock.

Well, Sherlock could oblige with that. He didn’t need John anyway. He didn’t need anyone. He would just go about his days on his own, untroubled by the idiots surrounding him. There were only three months left of school and he would get through it as quickly as possible and then leave this dead end place and be off to do his own thing. He would forget the plans that he and John had long ago made of going to the same University in the centre of London; John studying medicine whilst Sherlock studied chemistry and forensics. He had no need of sharing a place with him. He would strike out all by himself. He would do it all on his own.

With his new plan set in his head, he turned around and walked home; ignoring the nagging feelings of regret and yearning for what might have been.

~*~

John walked off with Mary, his arm around her shoulders, forcing himself not to look back at the friend he had just stood up and left behind. He didn’t want to go to tea with Mary’s parents at all. He had only wangled the invitation (and made Mary think the choice was of her own making) to get out of spending the night with Sherlock because he didn’t want to risk being alone with him. What did that say about him? He was a coward – that’s what it said, he told himself. A stupid, selfish coward!

John hadn’t let Sherlock refute what he had told him about their time being unimportant but he had seen the instant look of shock, followed by sadness in Sherlock’s eyes before he had turned away. How could he do that to the person with whom he had spent the majority of his life? He hated himself. He was appalled to realise, though, that even his self-hatred wasn’t strong enough to break through his panic and identity crisis. He tried to tune back in to the discussion which Mary was having with herself apparently for all the notice he had been taking. He hummed positively as she looked up at him and did his best to forget the memory of those despairing eyes which were burned into his own.

~*~

The last three months of school did that weird thing where, even though each day seemed to be the longest thing imaginable, when you looked back at it the time seemed to have passed without them realising it had gone. They’d had all their final exams now and the only thing left was the Leaver’s Ball this evening.

Sherlock had declared that he wasn’t going to go but his mother had other ideas and had insisted that he must attend. She said it was a rite of passage at which he had scoffed and said he had no need of such pedestrian pursuits but when she had brought his father into the discussion as well, he knew he was out of options and gave in, begrudgingly.

He had been custom measured for a tuxedo which was the most elegant thing he had ever worn. He had a purple silk shirt with a black bow tie which wonderfully set off his sharp cheekbones (made sharper by the weight he had lost in the last few months from avoiding the canteen and his general loss of an already small appetite.)

Mycroft insisted on taking him to the party – more than likely to make sure he actually attended than out of sheer generosity Sherlock was sure. Sherlock avoided the more boisterous members of his year group who were loitering outside and went straight inside and hid himself away in one of the corners, observing all that was happening. 

He saw one of the boys distracting the teacher by the drinks table whilst his friend slipped the obligatory booze into the punch and vowed to make sure he stayed away from that. He did eventually walk over to help himself to a bottle of water, though. If he was going to have to stand in this ridiculously overheated room filled with all the dancing students for much longer he thought he might pass out.

He had been there thirty minutes and was in the middle of texting a message to Mycroft to demand that he came back to pick him up now instead of waiting another hour, as Mycroft had ordained, when he saw ‘him’ arrive. There was no other way to describe it – John looked amazing. He was wearing a tux, as were the majority of the other boys, too, but John had matched his with a deep blue shirt which brought out the colour of his eyes and set off his blonde hair perfectly. After storing the image of John’s utter perfection into his brain he turned away, not wanting to be caught looking, and pretended a nonchalance he was far from feeling.

He had done his best to remove all thoughts of John from his brain but the boy just defied deletion. He had been part of Sherlock’s life for so long that without John there wasn’t a lot left. Instead, Sherlock had done his best to avoid him as much as possible – a task made easier by the lack of effort to meet up on John’s part as well – so this was the first time he had seen him properly in weeks; and, no doubt, the last as Sherlock had no plans to keep in contact with anyone in this odorous school.

He quickly finished his text to Mycroft, insisting that he be picked up instantly, and then sat back down in the corner, positioning himself out of sight of where the main group of John’s friends were sitting.

~*~

John was feeling about as miserable as it was possible to be when trying to look happy. He had been picked up by Mary in the limousine from the embassy and, after roundly praising her beauty, had sat in his own seat quietly looking out of the window until they had reached the party. They had arranged to meet all their friends there but there was only one person that John could think of and he was fairly sure that he wouldn’t even be there if it could be helped.

John had been thinking of Sherlock more and more recently, though he had been trying to force himself to focus on Mary and not his friend. Was he even still his friend? John didn’t know any more after the way he had treated him. He was a horrible person. He hadn’t even really seen Sherlock around school. The nearest he’d got had been seeing the back of his head going in to a classroom when he had been heading into his own room and when he had left at the end of the lesson there had been no sign of him again. 

John had gone over and over the events of that night in his head and knew he couldn’t blame it on Sherlock, well, on either of them really as they had both been dreaming, it seemed. When he had thought back over it he knew that his reaction and instant panic had been centred around his own sexuality and had nothing to do with Sherlock. He recalled the happy look that had been on Sherlock’s face and the evidence of a wet stain on Sherlock’s pyjamas that showed John hadn’t been the only one who had enjoyed the dream. He had still treated his friend very badly, though, and wanted to make amends. He wanted to be friends again; Sherlock had always been in his life and he missed him more than anything.

John walked over to the table where his friends were all gathered; complimenting each other on how fabulous they all looked. John looked all around the room but couldn’t see Sherlock anywhere. He sighed in disappointment and resigned himself to sitting through another long evening doing something in which he had little interest or enthusiasm.

Mike pushed past him on his way to get a drink for himself and his date and John leaned over to get out of his way. As he did so, he saw him. Oh, wow – he was here! He’d actually come and he looked bloody gorgeous, John could willingly admit that. He’d never had a problem knowing that his friend had amazing looks and had often teased him about it before when girls had tried to chat him up. He had just never thought it would be himself who turned out to be as bad as one of those drooling groupies who couldn’t take his eyes off the beautiful sight in front of him.

In that instant he knew that all of his foolish ideas of himself as a solid, upstanding, heterosexual male were just that – foolish. Who was he trying to kid? Just seeing Sherlock in front of him proved to him how wrong he had been. When he had dreamed that it had been Sherlock giving him that blow job, he hadn’t stopped himself because deep down he had wanted it to happen. It was just a knee-jerk reaction which had had him rebelling against that thought and rejecting his friend instead of accepting what his subconscious had known all along.

Maybe he had needed this time for his conscious mind to catch up with himself but he knew that, when he looked across at Sherlock sitting by himself, there was no-one else with whom he wanted to spend his evening – or his whole life if it came to that. He had to go to him now. He couldn’t leave him by himself a moment longer. He needed to make this right.

He pushed himself up from the table and Mary looked at him questioningly. Shit, he was here with Mary! He sat back down again. He was such a heel. He was going to have to disappoint Mary now, too, but he knew there was nothing else he could do. He had been denying this for too long as it was and it couldn’t be allowed to continue. Just as he was about to start his stuttering apologies, Mary looked at him and shook her head.

“Oh, John. You are completely hopeless, do you know that?”

John looked surprised, not knowing what she was trying to say.

“You have been distant for weeks now and I have tried to give you what you want but it isn’t enough, is it? It isn’t me that has been pulling away, it’s been you, and I think we both know the reason why, don’t we?”

John’s eyes slid over to where Sherlock was sitting, not realising that Mary had even seen him.

“I saw his face as you walked in and I just watched yours now when you saw him. You both have it as bad as each other and this has gone on long enough.”

“Mary… I…”

Mary held up her hand. “John, you don’t have to say anything. I just hope that, someday, someone looks at me the way you two look at each other. Now get yourself across the room before I have to drag you over there myself.”

“Mary, you are amazing, do you know that?”

Mary smiled at him, smirking slightly as she added, “I’ve always thought so,” with a little wink.

“Thank you. For everything. I’m sorry if I’ve…”

“Hush. Get on over there and put things right. I want someone to have an unforgettable time tonight, even if it isn’t me.”

She shook her head as John started to apologise again and flicked her fingers in a ‘shoo’ gesture at him. John leant forward and kissed her on the cheek before moving out from behind the table, grinning in anticipation as he left. He watched as she turned to chat to their other friends, a resigned but still happy smile on her face. The maturity from her well-travelled lifestyle shone through and she was determined to enjoy the evening despite not spending it with John. Knowing that she would be okay, John dismissed everything else from his mind as he turned to look over at the only person in whom he was really interested.

He made his way around the perimeter of the room, not wanting to spook Sherlock into leaving before he had a chance to talk to him. He knew this wouldn’t be easy after the way he had treated his friend. As he approached he saw that Sherlock had his head down, bent over his phone, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone.

“Hi.”

Sherlock’s fingers froze on the screen for a moment as he instantly recognised that voice which he knew so well.

“What are you doing over here? I think your table are all making free with the punch – which has been spiked, by the way – so, much good may it do you.”

“I don’t want any punch.”

“I’m sure your girlfriend would have other ideas.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“I saw you come in with her. Not that I was looking, of course, you just happened to cross my eye-line.”

“She was my girlfriend when we walked in but she isn’t any more; there’s someone else.”

“Well, I’m sorry.”

Sherlock and John both spoke at the same time. “You are?” “There is?”

John smiled at the shocked expression on Sherlock’s face. He’d managed to surprise him for once so he made the most of the opportunity at holding Sherlock’s attention and sat down by him.

“Sherlock, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. I was a complete idiot and I reacted really badly to something that wasn’t your fault.”

Sherlock looked justified that John was assuming the blame, but he was not going to rush to forgive anything without fully understanding what they were talking about. He wanted full clarity so that there would be no more confusion.

“I know it wasn’t my fault. I was woken up from an amazing dream by a kick to the leg and the sight of you running as fast and as far from me as possible without even discussing it and then avoiding me ever since.”

“I know. I was terrible. I’m really sorry. I think I was over-reacting because of the way my Dad was when he found about Harry. You know how mad he was. He kicked her out of the house and hasn’t spoken to her since, though I know Mum has been in contact with her. I just panicked when I realised what had happened and was pushing so hard against being thought of as gay in case he did the same to me.”

“You realise there is still a strong possibility of that happening?”

“When I walked in and saw you sitting here all alone, I just thought to hell with it. I didn’t want to be without you another moment and I don’t give a shit if he kicks me out. That’s his issue, not mine.”

“When you say ‘without you’, do you mean you want to restart our friendship?”

“At a bare minimum. I’ve really missed you, Sherlock. If that’s all you want then I’ll take whatever you want to give me.”

“And, if it isn’t?”

“Apparently, I’ve been a blind fool. Even Mary said she could tell just from the way we looked at each other. I’m yours, if you want me, that is?”

“Of course, I want you, John. Why do you think I haven’t been with anyone else all this time?”

“Well, you always say they’re idiots.”

“How true, they are all idiots, but putting the obvious aside; the reason I wasn’t interested in other people was because I already had what I wanted right beside me. You just never noticed.”

“I’m sorry,” John grinned, “you do like to tell me how unobservant I am.”

“Yes, but this was taking things to the extreme, even for you, John.”

John bashed him on the arm. “Hey! Be nice. I could just walk back over to that other table, you know.”

Sherlock grabbed on to the arm which had just hit his own. “I think you’ll find you aren’t going anywhere.” His mobile phone pinged a text alert noise in his pocket. “Well, I’ll retract that statement and say you aren’t going anywhere without me. If that is Mycroft finally announcing his arrival then I suggest we leave immediately and go somewhere where these people are not.”

“This is the last time we might see most of them, don’t you want to party?”

“Do you even know me? I think I might have to re-assess whether I wish to remain in your company?” 

Sherlock smirked at him and John poked him in the side and smiled back. He stood up and reached a hand out to Sherlock.

“Come on then. Let’s blow this joint. I have an amazing dream I would like to re-enact and I’d like to be fully awake enough to remember it this time.”

Sherlock grinned at him and allowed himself to be pulled up before propelling John rapidly towards the exit.

“Shouldn’t we say goodbye to everyone first?”

Sherlock turned John towards his friends, shouted ‘Bye’ and then continued pushing him out of the room. John laughed and waved goodbye to his friends, shouting ‘I’ll call you soon’ as he went past.  
Mary had obviously told them what was happening and Greg and Mike grinned and waved back to him, sending wolf whistles chasing after them. John gesticulated to them just as he and Sherlock went out through the door, leaving them giggling madly.

“Hey, what’s the hurry?”

“The hurry, John, is that you have just offered me a re-enactment and I wish to accept that offer immediately. Now, get your arse into the car before I have to carry you.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Is that a challenge?”

John looked at the expression on Sherlock’s face and smirked at him. “Yeah, go on then, I’d like to see you try.”

Sherlock grinned and grabbed John around the top of his legs and put his shoulder into John’s stomach, boosting him up in a fireman’s lift and walking quickly towards the car.

John laughed. “Put me down, you idiot.”

“Just because I am not in the rugby team, doesn’t mean I’m not strong, John.”

“Fine! You’re strong enough to carry me, now put me down before you hurt yourself.”

Sherlock kept going and John let him; deciding that the view of Sherlock’s arse was well worth staying right where he was. He stretched his arm down and pinched one of those luscious cheeks. Sherlock squeaked in surprise and almost dropped him on the spot. John laughed as Sherlock righted him as they reached the car and opened the door. They both got in and John smiled as he saw Mycroft give him a small nod in the rear view mirror as they headed home. Much as Sherlock liked to deny it, John knew that Mycroft cared about him and he knew that Mycroft would be pleased to see Sherlock smiling again, even though he was trying to hide it in front of Mycroft.

When they got back to Sherlock’s house, John barely had time to thank Mycroft for the lift before he was being dragged inside and towed upstairs. Mrs Holmes was standing in the hall as they walked through and John shouted hello to her as they went past; Sherlock stopping for nothing or no-one. They eventually got up to Sherlock’s room and he slammed the door shut behind John and pushed him up against it.

John grinned and leaned in to do something he had been thinking about all evening; that was to kiss Sherlock. For a first kiss it was pretty amazing. John held Sherlock's head gently in his palms, stroking his thumbs over those sharp cheekbones. He brushed his lips lightly over Sherlock's own and pressed a soft kiss to each corner. John revelled in the little gasp he drew from Sherlock as he slid his tongue along Sherlock’s lower lip and bit down gently on the soft skin. He pushed gently inside as Sherlock’s lips parted, parrying with Sherlock’s own tongue; enjoying Sherlock’s enthusiasm at experiencing something new. John knew Sherlock had not done it before but he was a very fast learner and was soon copying all of John’s moves, matching him taste for taste as they explored each other’s mouths.

Sherlock pulled away, trying to catch his breath as he looked down at the gorgeous man in front of him. John was finally where he was meant to be - in Sherlock’s room and hopefully, very shortly, in Sherlock’s bed. From the dilated pupils and racing pulse, Sherlock knew that John wanted him just as much as Sherlock had always hoped. There was no longer anything or anyone else in their way and Sherlock couldn’t be happier that his dreams had finally come true. He smiled at John and kissed him on the tip of the nose, before holding out his hand to pull John over towards the bed.

“Now, I believe an offer was made, and I intend to see it fulfilled, Mr Watson.”

“It would be my pleasure, Mr Holmes; my absolute pleasure.”

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to A as always.
> 
> Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed it. :)


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